


lookin' for some good luck

by lackadaisical (deadtime), supremekermit



Series: my cat is a human and i'm his witchy boyfriend [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, An Attempt At Dark Humor, Lacrosse Boys, M/M, Murder But It's Consensual, Resurrection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 16:15:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20549036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadtime/pseuds/lackadaisical, https://archiveofourown.org/users/supremekermit/pseuds/supremekermit
Summary: Donghyuck needs a sacrifice. Jeno is only too willing.





	lookin' for some good luck

**Author's Note:**

> _ i'm your carnal flower, i'm your bloody rose_   
_pick my petals off, and make my heart explode_   
[♥](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WZzcY7ASQno)
> 
> so after two months of this accumulating dust in my drafts i decided to pick it back up again! please be warned that this is pretty morbid (pls read the tags!) and just overall weird but i had a lot of fun writing it >.<

Nine is a good year for Donghyuck. According to his grandmother's tea leaves, it wasn't supposed to be. Pitch black jasmine, two deaths, and an excommunication later, Donghyuck's standing on his estranged cousin's porch, a Pororo rolling backpack that he'd lugged up the rickety stairs at his feet. He'd been handed off with a warning tag: _ cursed child, handle with care. _

Doyoung sorts him out alright. By that, Donghyuck means Doyoung spent two weeks progressively greying before succumbing to the flyer slid under their door. _ COOPED UP WITH YOUR BOY? SEND HIM TO LACROSSE CAMP! _

"You need to do something about all that anger," Doyoung says, on the drive. Donghyuck sits in the backseat, the racquet heavy in his hands. "You're too young for voodoo. Try punching other kids first."

Donghyuck had just nodded and took Doyoung's advice. Doyoung didn't need to know about the rag doll tucked in the back of Donghyuck's duffle, nor the cushion full of pins next to it.

Nine is a good number anyways. A cat has nine lives, and so does Donghyuck on a sunny day in the thick of New England summer, tearing through the field in a pair of cleats Doyoung had found in the dumpster of a thrift store. As it turns out, Doyoung is always right. Donghyuck finds lacrosse like a fish finds water, dipping right into the ebb and flow, the racquet transforming into an extension of his scrawny arms.

Lacrosse is a bit like magic, but Donghyuck doesn't like the resemblance. No, he likes the difference. Magic is fickle, and when you're a little boy with an anger bigger than your body, it becomes dangerous in your hands, wet and slimy, as if it'll slip from your fingertips at any minute. Too often, it does.

But the racquet feels solid under his fingers. So do the bodies he slams into, one solid rush of pain after another, rage blending into adrenaline to form an intoxicating mixture, wafting like a love potion left to cool.

Meeting Jeno isn't like inhaling love potion, though. It's more abrupt, like shattering a centuries old mirror into a million, inconsolable pieces. Like being smacked in the face with a butt-end of a racquet and sent sprawling to the ground, bruised elbow first. Like gripping a bloody nose while you squint up at the sun, at the teary-eyed culprit of your assault, one Jeno Lee with a _ 9 _ emblazoned across his back, and realizing that you've stumbled upon bad luck.

This is not important, Donghyuck decides. He tastes iron on his tongue, but that's not important either. The most important part is Jeno's hand, the one that shoots out to help Donghyuck up beneath a sheepish smile. The important part, is how they feel, soft and warm and a little delicate. Like the pad of a kitten's paw.

Donghyuck isn't allowed to take in strays, not when he's one himself. But for Jeno, he makes an exception.

  
  


"I need to get better at using my powers.

Doyoung snorts at Donghyuck over his copy of _ Witchin' Weekly _ , with a weary face Donghyuck can only describe as _ exasperated _. "You need to get better at Calculus first. Fail another test and you're looking at some nice, quality time with Taeyong during the next full moon."

Scowling, Donghyuck drops his spoon back into the bowl. The milk splashes, displacing the lone, round cereal ring. "Not you too, my coach is already tearing into me about that. I promise I'll do better on the next one. Just don't ship me off to Taeyong, please," he shudders. As nice as Doyoung's best friend can be, Donghyuck would rather not spend his break herb-picking from dust to dawn in a murky swamp when Doyoung is out of town. Besides, he has other plans for the full moon.

"And what are these plans?" Doyoung sniffs. His eyes lock onto Donghyuck's, probing, until Donghyuck slides the cereal box between. A flimsy shield at best.

"Stop that," Donghyuck grumbles. "And I want to--" He thinks of the heavy book tucked under his bed, right beside his old cleats. The same one that smacked him on the head during a tickle fight with Jeno in the attic, sending him and its pages sprawling across the ground. A promise of power hidden within a tearing spine. "I want to try a resurrection spell. Please?"

The cereal box flops over to reveal Doyoung's wide eyes, and even more comically arched eyebrows. Donghyuck sinks lower into his chair.

"A resurrection spell? Where did you even get this idea?"

"I saw it in one of the old spell books," Donghyuck mutters, hoping he's eye level enough with the table for the words to sound underwater. "It said that a resurrection spell performed during the full moon can help a witch unlock _ unseen potential _. Sure, it might involve a little murder, but nothing too hard--"

Doyoung drags a hand over his face, sighing. _ Exasperation _. "Donghyuck, do you think magic is like one of your video game? Where you perform a quest and suddenly you level up? Rack up enough points and you can defeat the final boss?"

Donghyuck furrows his eyebrows. God, Doyoung sounds _ ancient-- _

"I am," Doyoung snips and his expression is thunderous. "Which means I've been around long enough to inform you that your idea is royally idiotic and _ dangerous _. Completely batshit, in your words."

Protest bubbles in Donghyuck's throat. "But--"

"But you are too young." Setting down the paper, Doyoung glares at Donghyuck. "No, Donghyuck. Absolutely not."

“Fine,” Donghyuck scowls and that’s that. Doyoung turns back his magazine, muttering about the impatience of teenagers as he reaches for his cup of coffee. Donghyuck keeps his eyes on his own bowl, watching the last cereal ring float amidst a pool of white. Then, at last, he raises the bowl to his lips and drains it, washing down the full moon.

  
  


When Donghyuck was thirteen, he broke a vase. Not an expensive vase, not in the way that Jeno's mother's fine china sits behind a glass shelf, but an important vase. The ashes of a thousand year old demon monster kind of important.

Scraping hellfire dust off the carpet, Donghyuck had resolved to not tell Doyoung. He wouldn't notice, not when the vase sat behind a dusty jar of scorpion wine, freshly pickled since the Middle Ages. There would be no traces, no need to tell and no need to be sentenced to hours in the thick of the forest, squat down beside Doyoung with a basket to pick herbs.

Yeah, he'd spare himself from damp socks and sore legs.

The thing about secrets, though, is that they're like frogs. Live ones, that sit in your stomach and jump when you move. Jump when you lie. And there was only so much jumping Donghyuck could endure when the weight pressed against him everyday, rib-ribbiting through the night until at last, gurling, _ plop-- _

"Hey Jeno."

"Hm?"

"Would you let me kill me?"

Jeno's pen halts its path across the page, _ rigor mortis _with undotted i's. Blinking slowly, he peers up at Donghyuck. "Like, metaphorically?"

"No, not metaphorically." When Jeno's eyes widen, Donghyuck casts his gaze away, to the girl group posters hanging above Jeno's bed. He chews on his bottom lip, wincing when he draws blood. "Nevermind, it's stupid just--"

"Yeah."

The frogs are back, bouncing up and down in the gastric balloon. Looking back, Donghyuck's breath hitches in his throat as Jeno holds him with an odd gaze. It’s a dark cauldron, a swirling mixture of heat and something pitch black, makes Jeno’s eyes look like a dizzying planetarium sky, swimming and swimming far above.

Then, he picks up his pen again. Dots the i's. "Yeah, I'd die for you."

Demons, as it turns out, are bigger than frogs, but jump just the same.

  
  
  


"It's a witch thing," Donghyuck says, like he always does.

And like always, Jeno nods, no question, no doubt. "Right, a witch thing." He'd nodded even more when Donghyuck had explained the predicament, voice a hushed whisper over the tinny music coming from the diner booth's jukebox. Jeno had slid in a coin and flipped the dial to a crackling 80's tune, bopping his head along.

"So what's the play?" Jeno asks, drumming his fingers just an inch away from Donghyuck's hand. His hair is growing jagged these days, flopping over his brows in a way that seems to accentuate his petulant pout. Donghyuck just hopes he isn’t getting a haircut soon.

But business. Right. Donghyuck leans forward, voice hushed in conspiracy. "Well, first, we need some help..."

  
  


Jaemin Na is a fucker. He's got two sharp canines and mouth full of too many teeth, and a smile that makes Donghyuck want to sucker punch him into the next millennium.

He is also, unfortunately, Donghyuck's second to last resort. (Because the last is Mark Lee, and Donghyuck isn't keen on opening up that can of worms anytime soon.)

"Howdy," he says when Donghyuck whirls through the door of the convenience store, towing a dutiful Jeno behind him. The store smells of stale, icy air, tinted in a saccharine sweetness. Donghyuck's eyes fall to the puddle forming in front of the slurpee machine, then trails the dirty mop that Jaemin props his chin upon. 

"What can I get for you today, oh valued customer? A gram for your hard times?" Jaemin pauses, taking in Donghyuck’s company with a wicked smile. “Hi Jeno.”

Jeno gives an awkward wave. “Hi Jaemin.”

Once upon a time, Jaemin and Donghyuck had been attached at the hip. That was before Jaemin tried to shove him off the school rooftop, and way before Donghyuck had tried slipping a death potion in his Starbucks drink. Donghyuck doesn’t know how Jaemin could’ve tasted the poison through the already bitter jet fuel.

"I need Kit 4," Donghyuck says. He keeps his eyes just as low as his voice. Doyoung never liked the convenience store, always found it beneath his “more refined sensibilities”, but Donghyuck doesn’t want to risk it on the off chance Doyoung decided to drop by for any emergency supplies.

Jaemin blinks at him slowly, like a lazy cat on a porch. "Let me guess... limp dick?" Then inspiration strikes and his face lights up like a Christmas tree. "Wait-- who are you killing, loverboy?”

Fucking Jaemin Na and his fucking dollar store string lights.

"That's none of your business," Donghyuck bristles. He wades over to the counter and slaps down a handful of bills, alongside a list in chicken scratch. "Here."

Jaemin whistles, dropping the mop. The handle falls to the puddle, spreading cherry red across the grimy linoleum floors. "Paying me for my silence?" He swipes up the note, flickering over each bullet point with blank eyes.

"If you tell Doyoung--"

"I won't. You know how much I cherish my customers." The money disappears into his pocket as Jaemin marches behind the counter, disappearing into the storage room. Donghyuck squeezes Jeno’s hand when Jaemin’s figure emerges from the dark, cut in shadows, holding a small box under his arm.

“Everything’s in here.” Jaemin slides the box over the counter, the blemished wood scratching against the sticky surface. “Take a look, if you’d like.”

As trustworthy as Jaemin pegs himself to be, Donghyuck begs to differ. He carefully lifts the box lid and squints at the contents. When he verifies everything he’s paid for, he lets the lid fall back onto the box and gives Jaemin a wary nod.

“You know I’d never cheat a customer,” Jaemin croons, batting his eyes at Donghyuck.

“Then explain why the weed you sold me last time was shit,” Donghyuck mutters, tucking the box under his arm. He reaches for Jeno with the other, a warmth settling in his chest when he finds him right by his side. Jeno was still safe.

“You’re so much sweeter when you’re begging me for a gram,” Jaemin sighs.

“Let’s go,” Donghyuck whispers to Jeno, tugging him towards the door. As much as he likes to tease Doyoung, the convenience store unnerves him. He never likes sticking around long; the refrigerated cold can feel like a sticky mist, seeping into your bones until you drop as a corpse and never walk again.

Just as the doorbell rings above, Jaemin’s voice calls after them: “Take care, Jeno! Don’t let your witchy little boyfriend cut you into pieces. At the very least, leave that cute face alone so I have something to kiss when Donghyuck isn’t looking.”

Donghyuck doesn’t miss the jump in Jeno’s pulse, fluttering under his crooked fingers before the door swings shut. 

  
  


In freshman year, Donghyuck had gotten into make up. So much so, that he thought he’d try his hand at being an _ MUA _.

But he needed to practice on someone other than himself. So every day after practice, Jeno would follow Donghyuck up his creaky stairs and sit on the cracked bathroom counter, legs swinging as Donghyuck stood between his knees with brushes he ordered on Doyoung’s credit card and a dusty palette.

“Still,” Donghyuck would say, and he’d place his hand on Jeno’s knee, waiting until the other boy froze up under his fingertips. “Better,” he’d smile, removing his hand to cradle Jeno’s chin and maneuvering him to catch the light from the flickering bulb. Once Donghyuck deemed him decent and stepped back to admire his handiwork, Jeno would let out a small sigh like he was holding his breath.

_ Old habits die hard _. Donghyuck thinks it’s funny how quickly changes fall into routine, even when they themselves have changed so much. Donghyuck got his braces removed two years ago and Jeno…

“Are you looking at me like that because I’m pretty?”

Donghyuck scowls, slamming his door shut and instantly regretting it when he feels the ghost of Doyoung’s shout. Paranoia by helicopter parenting. 

“You think you’re pretty?” Donghyuck asks, like he doesn’t know the answer himself.

Jeno just smiles, that irritating, dog smile of his, and Donghyuck’s fingers itches for a racquet. He drops his bag to the floor instead, motioning for Jeno to plop down on his rug.

“Ready?”

Jeno nods, brandishing a container from his backpack. He cracks open the lid, and lifts a single, unblemished daffodil out the box, its stem cut short and blunt. He places it onto Donghyuck’s awaiting palm, watching with wide eyes as Donghyuck hovers a dropper over the flower.

Donghyuck practices the spell every night before he goes to sleep, but he flips the old book open just in case. Doyoung would want him to be meticulous, at least. The flutter of wind beckons Jeno forward, scrambling to his knees to press down on the bookmarked page.

“Ready.”

A clear droplet falls down onto the yellow petals. Immediately, the petals begin to wilt, drooping down as they turn a sickly brown, like the color of dirt loitering in a graveyard.

Donghyuck forces his eyes open, scanning the lines of text just to be sure. Then he pushes the words up his chest, where he has cradled them every night since that fateful day, onto his tongue, holding them until they were dense enough to make a splash when they fall.

Under Jeno’s rapt attention, the petals begin to regain their composure. Color returns, washing away the stain of death.

Donghyuck breathes life back into the flower, anew. When the daffodil shines again, even its cut stem growing out, Donghyuck looks up at Jeno with trepidation.

In the silence of the room, he hears the barest whisper of a sigh.

  
  


“You’d tell me if you were scared right?”

The top of Jeno’s head peeks up from his comforter, tufts of black hair gone awry in the throes of sleep. Mid season exhaustion weighs down his eyes, and Donghyuck takes it as a chance to lean a little closer, stare a little harder. Jeno’s eyelashes are so long, Donghyuck sometimes wonders if he has trouble seeing.

“What?” If Donghyuck had to make a list of sounds he loved most in the world, Jeno’s sleepy voice would reign second. It’s scratchy at the edges, but runs sweet at the center, like a cookie fresh out the oven.

“Tell me if you’re scared. We don’t have to do this.”

In the dark, Jeno’s hand reaches for Donghyuck. He didn’t realize what little distance was between them until Jeno’s nose is millimeters from his and he can smell the sharp toothpaste mint lingering on Jeno’s breath.

“Donghyuck, I’m not scared.”

If Donghyuck had to make a list of sounds he loved most in the world, Jeno saying his name would always be first.

“Really?” 

Jeno nods, cradling Donghyuck’s hand against his cheek. His skin is soft and warm, and beneath, blood thrums, rushing to and fro to keep one Jeno Lee alive. With every square Donghyuck slashes out on his calendar, the full moon draws closer and closer, its red ink smudging near the bottom of the page. A strange weight has settled on his shoulders, growing with every dead object, animal, thing that Donghyuck revives. 

He can’t mess up with Jeno.

“I trust you,” Jeno whispers. His fingers ghost Donghyuck’s neck, skating upwards to the swoop of his jaw. “I trust you with my life, Donghyuck.” He inches closer and closer and Donghyuck closes his eyes.

Like magic, Jeno makes the space between them disappear.

  


The day of the full moon, Doyoung hands Donghyuck a hundred dollar bill and tells him not to be stupid.

“Half is for food, the other half is your _ emergency fund _ ,” Doyoung enunciates, dragging his suitcase down the rickety porch. When he reaches his car, he pauses, hand on the handle before whirling back to Donghyuck with a scrutinizing gaze. Donghyuck keeps his eyes on his phone, guarding his thoughts in case Doyoung’s sixth sense feels like being especially _ sensitive _ today.

Finally, Doyoung unlocks the door. “Don’t starve. Don’t burn down the house. And _ especially-- _”

“Don’t kill anyone or get myself killed,” Donghyuck recites as Doyoung clicks on his seatbelt and revs up the engine. As Doyoung pulls away, he shoots Donghyuck a grimace of a smile. Donghyuck waits until Doyoung’s car disappears down the road, before he marches back up the porch and shuts the door.

The clock is ticking and he has to be ready.

  


Once, a few weeks after Doyoung had taken him in, Donghyuck got lost in the nearby woods. Their house is conveniently located on the outskirts of town, closer to the mountains than any big shopping malls or movie theaters with plush seats. That day, Donghyuck had kicked a ball over their backyard fence and after what felt like an eternity of searching, he’d come to the realization that he had lost himself along with the ball.

Now, with Jeno trailing him into the thicket and the moon high above them, Donghyuck shivers as that same sense of disorientation sinks past the thick cotton of his varsity jacket into his skin, and then some. Since that day, Donghyuck has grown to know these woods like the back of his hand, but for some reason, he can’t shake the feeling that he’s stumbling down a wrong path, a stone throw away from being lost. 

A hand wraps around his, dissipating his thoughts. “Are you okay?”

How strange, when he should be the one asking Jeno that instead.

Donghyuck nods as they reach a clearing, where the moon hangs in the starless sky, center frame. The trickling sound of water nearby pricks Donghyuck ears, and he allows himself a small sigh of relief. There’s no better safety precaution for raising the dead than a source of life.

“I guess this is it,” Jeno says, his voice light and even like he isn’t about to literally and figuratively lay down his life. He drops to the forest floor, shedding his jacket beside him. It’s the exact same as Donghyuck’s, except where a _ 66 _ is stamped on Donghyuck’s back, _ 09 _ is stitched against the crimson red.

What an unlucky number, Donghyuck thinks.

“I’m ready,” Jeno announces.

The rattling in Donghyuck’s heart does not cease. In fact, it grows with every step he takes towards Jeno, banging against his chest, and his veins sweep into an orchestra, all screeching strings and blaring wind. Donghyuck’s shadow grows and grows, climbing up Jeno’s feet and then his knees, until Donghyuck looms over him, larger than life. He crouches down, taking his hand out of his pocket.

The blade in his hand feels leaden.

"This won't hurt," Donghyuck says, voice wobbling. He doesn't know who he's trying to convince; Jeno or himself?

The moonlight cuts across the planes of Jeno’s face, casting the sharp slopes and doughy valleys in a pale glow. Licking his lips, Donghyuck lets his gaze wander, meander amongst the constellation of moles until it dips towards a small scar under Jeno’s eye, right above his cheek. It’s a souvenir from when they were ten, the same year Jeno juggled a cast on one arm and a guilt-ridden Donghyuck on the other. “I’ll heal quickly,” Jeno had promised Donghyuck, patting his head as Donghyuck sobbed into his side, face blotchy and red.

"It's going to be okay." 

Exhaling, Jeno lifts a hand to cradle Donghyuck's cheek. Donghyuck preens, sinking into the silken skin. Then, Jeno's tongue darts out, sandpaper to skin.

"Now show me what you've got."

Pressing a final, languid kiss against Jeno's neck, Donghyuck begins.

Steady is good. Doyoung's voice echoes in his head: _ slow and steady wins the race _ . _ Steady, Donghyuck. Magic is fickle. _ But Donghyuck works fast, for Jeno's sake. The words are warm on his tongue, sugared to a crisp from his dutiful recitation. He lets them fall fast, fast and hard, again, _ hover _ , again, _ still _ , again, _ puncture, _until he can't hear himself over the sound of the blood in his ears.

The blood on his hands.

The blood in his veins, in his heart, _ ba-dump, ba-dump _ , _ ba-dump, ba-dump _while Jeno fades in silence. Goes still.

With a shuddering breath, Donghyuck begins the count.

_ 1... _

The crickets have ceased their chirping, and a dead silence fills the air, punctured by the rustling of leaves.

2...

Somewhere, deep within the forest, a howl cuts through the night, echoing off bark as it slinks towards the unknown.

_ 3… _

A branch snaps, like the first burst of a firecracker, and Donghyuck’s heart threatens to explode.

_ If you love something, let it go. If it comes back to you, it’s yours. _

The clock strikes. And--

_ "Meow!" _

Donghyuck cracks open his eyes, and screams.

**Author's Note:**

> doyoung: my donghyuck senses are tingling
> 
> title from froot by marina, series title inspired by [this absolute gem](https://twitter.com/4ljn23/status/1165530758770917379)
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/haetelier) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/haetelier)


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